Elohel In The C of S
by KillGenevieve
Summary: It started with a Potions essay...isn't that always how these tales of tragedy and woe begin? Anyway, this is entirely satirical of what went down cerca year two at Hogwarts with regard to the Chamber of Secrets.
1. Potions Never Leads To Anything Good

El-oh-el in the C of S

By KillGenevieve

The onset of night had brought with it a slight breeze that momentarily alleviated the oppressive heat. However, Harry Potter still tugged at the collar of his robes in an attempt to expose just one more centimeter of his saturated skin to the cool gust, which felt like a long awaited embrace from a lover at that point. He felt the sudden urge to tear off his clothes and let the zephyr engulf his sweating body (which he was positive all the girls in the castle watching him at that very moment were longing for), but the air stilled a moment later, leaving him with a great lump of disappointment in his belly and a fishy smell in his nostrils which could only indicate merpeople breeding season in the Black Lake.

"Merlin's beard," thought Harry exasperatedly, "this means Hagrid'll be out here guilting us into collecting fish people eggs for days! Note to self: do NOT suggest a visit to Hagrid's any time soon."

With a flip of his hair (again, for the ladies he was he _knew_ were there) and a burning desire to not be anywhere near the lake in case the aforementioned giant also caught a whiff of the lake's scent and came running, Harry trudged back up to the castle, where a 24-inch essay for Professor Snape awaited him like a needy spouse who'd been alone all day. _Oh, good dear, you're home! I was getting so worried that you'd miss dinner with the children! How was your day?_ He could imagine the blank parchment saying all this as he would sit down to attempt progression past writing his own name for the fifth time.

The whole reason he'd been strolling by the lake in the first place was a valient effort on Harry's part to clear his embarrassingly vacant mind (with the small hope that the non-medicinal antidote for all six poisonous "Burbulous Konkoctions" would fall out of the sky from the womb of a low-flying thestral, as 17th century potions were not his forte), but Snape's infuriating gloat of a voice rang through his ears every time he tried to think about something other than doing homework all night long.

"Second note to self (he always imagined a cute little French secretary taking these notes in his head): ask Hermione about that Memory Charm that I can't quite get the grasp of...kind of like every other aspect of magic they're teaching me in this stupid school!" he thought bitterly as he shoved through the double doors, "A bloody war with Voldemort is going on and I 'm stuck here, failing all my miserable classes! This isn't fair, I'm the boy who lived!"

Suddenly, the teenage angst bubbled up in his throat and the pubescent wizard knew he was about to break down into sobs of despair. Realizing that a dreadfully attractive second year boy crying would only attract hoards of love-struck girls from every grade level (a wise thought that would only occur to a humble warlock boy such as himself), Harry ran like the solar wind to the most inconspicuous hiding spot a male could find: the girls' lavatory.

As he wrenched open the door, he noticed a gigantic hole where one of the sinks would have been had it not been levitating 17 feet in the air. Figuring that the legions of girls were still in hot pursuit (in reality, no one had actually seen him exit or reenter the castle), he dashed to the opening, muttering angrily all the way.

"Oh, if only I weren't so angry or orphaned or famous or attractive or--oh, hi, Ginny! How're y--WAAAAAH!"

And with that, Harry fell (as manly as he could manage) down into the dark abyss that stretched infinitely before him.


	2. Tumbling Down The Rabbit Hole, Harry?

In reality, the hole only went down about 10 feet, but to Harry, it felt like he was screaming his lungs out for hours.

"AHHHHH--oh, wait...I stopped falling a long time ago. Let's go exploring!" he exclaimed to no one in particular (although he wished that the French secretary were with him...it was so very dark). He set off at a brisk pace down a somewhat slimy tunnel, practically giddy about discovering what was at the end because it was more than enough of a reason to procrastinate a little while longer.

"How could Snape ever deny that exploring the school is a better use of time than writing an essay for a subject that no one cares about?" Harry inquired of the darkness.

"Like this: 'Potter, when the muggles told you your parents were dead, that's nowhere near the amount of dead you're going to be in the next three seconds.'," replied said darkness.

With completely soiled pants, Harry ran full tilt towards what he thought was the hole that he threw himself down in the first place. However, he had forgotten that people who wear glasses (along with those who don't) have a terrible tendency of not being able to see solid stone walls in the dark. Needless to say, he was reminded of this as his face smacked into such a wall and he careened into something substantial enough to be a human being. Completely scared out of his mind, he began to spew anything that came to mind in an annoyingly girlish screech.

"Please don't hurt me! I'm just an innocent attractive boy of twelve who doesn't want to write his stupid Potions essay! I'll give you anything--I've got some Knuts, a couple of blugders, my wand, I've got tons more in my room! Just DON'T KILL ME, I'M TOO GOOD-LOOKING TO DIE! WHAT WILL ALL THOSE GIRLS DO WITHOUT ME?!"

The being loomed over him for a moment and then extended a hand to help him up as it let out something like a chortle.

"Mate, you've got to stop wandering alone in the dark. You might not get so lucky as to get accosted by your best friend next time," a familiar voice chuckled.

"Ron! Ronald! Ronnie! Thank Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore it's you! I was so afraid that you were a dementor or a werewolf or another shameless girl who wanted nothing more than to shred the clothes from me here and now!"

"Well...you see, Harry...," began Ron somewhat sheepishly, "I--"

"And off we go! What's better than exploring with your bestest friend?! Oh, and you can let go of my hand now. I managed to get up a while ago," Harry added before bounding off into the darkness with renewed euphoria; he was even able to ignore the slight discomfort of bodily waste percolating through his pants with each step he took. Ron, somewhat let down, had no choice but to follow, as he hadn't even heard about this Potions assignment, let alone started it. Besides, Harry might get lost and...well, Ron was quite glad that both of them had neglected to bring a compass.

As they trundled along down what seemed to be another large pipe (fancy that, a pipe beneath a sink), the two boys suddenly heard an explosion at the far end.

Harry, in what he thought to be the best display of Gryffindor pride ever exhibited by a human being, threw out his chest and yelled at the direction of the blast, "I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU!"

"Um...Harry, to tell you the truth...I'm a little scared," mumbled Ron with an unconvincing whimper in his voice. He wasn't afraid in the slightest, but he thought this to be as good an opportunity as any to try and win Harry over. "Perhaps we should just stay put and...stick together," he breathed in his friend's ear as he slipped his sweaty hand into Harry's back pocket.

"RONALD!" Harry screamed suddenly, "There's a wolf behind us! I've just felt its wet muzzle on my tush! Run like you mean it, sir!"

Before Ron could even smack his forehead in frustration, Harry had taken off once again in blaze of glory (it may have actually been urine at that point, since "the wolf" has elicited another bladder release). But before the soaked child could proceed another inch, another somewhat substantial being roughly the size and shape of a human jumped into his path and knocked him off his feet.

"How many bloody people are down here?!" squealed Harry in alarm as the shadowy figure ran around him. Instead of attacking the soggy thing on the ground (aka Harry), it pelted straight towards Ron, who was still back where the "wolf attack" had taken place. He was so lost in thought about how to seduce his best friend that he failed to notice that he was about to be savagely pummeled.

"Ronny, look out! You're going to get all your money stolen! Wait, you don't have any...never mind!"

However, it was too late. The attacker had pounced and pinned Ron to the ground before Harry even realized that he could get up and potentially do something to help his friend. Being the clever but humble twelve year old that he was, Harry decided to hide behind a boulder (which he conjured out of thin air) until the alarming encounter drew to a close.

"Who are you!?" bellowed Ron as struggled against his assailant's grip.

"Why, Mr. Weasley!" replied the mugger, "I'm surprised that you don't recognize me! After all, you've got a middle-aged overworked homemaker witch of a mother, so she's BOUND to know who I am!"

"...so...who are you!?"

"Why, I'm none other than--"

"Who are you?!"

"I said, I'm none other than--"

"WHO ARE YOU!?"

"The Famous G--"

"Oooh, you're famous? Goody, I get to tell the triplets, Fred, George, and Ginny, that I was jumped by a famous person! Now...WHO ARE YOU!?"

"THE FAMOUS GILDEROY LOCKHART, YOU BLUNDERING TWIT!" screeched the disturbingly indignant wizard.

"Oh...it IS you!" cried Harry as he stepped out from behind the boulder, "I was wondering who the heck else would be down here! Silly me...now, WHO ARE YOU!?"

"Hang on a second, mate," wheezed Ron (Lockhart was crushing his ribs for no reason at all), "we've already established who he is. Now we have to ask what he wants."

"Right you are, Ronald!" agreed Harry, "Well, WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"

"Why are you yelling?" Lockhart inquired after pausing to see how long the echo of the boy's last exclamation could be heard through the pipe.

"Because it makes me sound more intimidating," replied Harry matter-of-factly, "Now, Mr. Gilderoy Yourcrushingmybestfriend, I'd like to know two things: what is it you want and do you prefer one or two lumps in your tea?"


	3. Tea Time And Some Terms

As it turned out, Lockhart preferred a whopping five lumps in his tea. During the inquisitorial exchange, Harry had conjured up a small table complete with tea and scones (Ron got to stand while his two companions enjoyed a spot of Earl Gray).

"So, Mr. Lockhart," said Harry conversationally as he blew on his tea, "on what terms are we going to walk out of here alive?"

"Um...," replied a somewhat confused Lockhart, "I have no intention of killing you, my dear boy. I simply wanted--"

"I'll trade you Ron for my freedom!"

"Harry!" gasped Ron as he threw the sugar tongs down in indignation, "He's not going to kill us! We don't need to discuss any terms! I can't believe you'd sell out your best friend!"

"I have to say, I must agree with your auburn amigo on this one," intoned Lockhart, "There's really no need to take hostages...however, because you brought it up, I suppose I should tell you why I'm down here in the first place. You see, I figured you'd eventually find your way to the Chamber of Secrets, seeing as you're such a clever little boy, Harry Potter."

"Oh, don't remind me," blushed Harry in an attempt to look modest, "Now, why are you down here exactly?"

"Well," continued Lockhart as he munched on a scone, "it occurred to me that once you found your way down here that, naturally, your little Weasel sidekick would follow...as it is, I've been looking for a new pet...one rather rodent-like in nature," he concluded as he turned his gleaming eyes towards Ron.

"What, Ron?" scoffed Harry while unconsciously spitting tea everywhere, "He's not a rodent, you blighter. He's a bo—ooooooooh." Understanding dawned on his youthful face as he too looked at Ron. "Sir, I must say, that's somewhat inappropriate."

"What?" a very panicked Ron wanted to know, "What's inappropriate? What is it that everyone else here is getting except me!? Someone explain what's goi—ooooooooh." Comprehension brought a frown across Ron's countenance as Lockhart reached out and took his hand.

"Well, that settles it then!" cried Harry as he threw the rest of his tea over his shoulder, "I'll go on to discover what's in this big bad Closet of Mysteries thingy and you'll take Ronny as your slave! That works out nicely!"

As Lockhart began to lead Ron away into the darkness, the lanky redhead didn't know if he'd ever see his dreadfully attractive friend again, so he knew that it would have to be now or never.

"Harry!" Ron ejaculated, "You need to know that I've always--"

"Wanted to be me! I've known that the whole time, Ronny!" Harry called back with an understanding tone in his voice, "Now, play nice with Lockhart and be a good rodent!"

With that, Harry set off once again into the abyss as a very pleased Lockhart continued to lead Ron by the hand to who knows what.

Now, at this point, Harry's pants were starting to disintegrate from the excess amount of liquid they were retaining, so he decided that a change of lower body apparel was necessary. Thinking like the total man he knew himself to be, he chanted a special incantation he'd learned in Transfiguration that day.

"_ParisHiltonus Miniskirtus_!"

Upon depositing his dripping pantaloons in a corner (along with the suspended drivers license that the spell had also conjured), our hero skipped away in a skirt that allowed for MUCH more air flow than the aforementioned trousers.

"Ahhh...I could get used to all this breeze betwixt my knees!" breathed Harry contentedly as he flounced merrily along down the apparently endless pipe, "However, it would appear as though I've careened into two people already due to lack of luminosity down here. I should sincerely hate my cheery mood to be spoiled. _Lumos_!"

The end of his wand became a beacon of illumination and, much to his chagrin, he noticed that his somewhat hairy legs were rather unsightly in conjunction with his newly acquired microskirt.

"Nooo! This must be the work of the monster Pubertis! I must not appear socially unacceptable!" Without any further ado, Harry pointed his wand at his legs and chanted, "_Hairius Incendius_!"

The inconvenient truth about spells which contain homophones is that magic is first and foremost a very personal art. Even though the warlock-to-be MEANT to only ignite the hair of his legs, the magic within him believed he was referring to himself when he uttered the haphazard incantation. In other words, the magic loved him so much that it set him on fire.


End file.
